


We Were Back To Eighteen

by astrovevo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Lydia and Stiles, Martinski, Stydia, future!stydia, post show, stiles and lydia - Freeform, stydia canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 07:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10239560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrovevo/pseuds/astrovevo
Summary: Stiles finds out that a certain McCall is in love with someone he's protective off.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ignore my grammar and spelling mistakes. also, this is meant to be a comedic fic but my sense of humour is weak.

“Henry’s at yours, right?” Scott McCall asks, through the phone.

Lydia Martin-Stilinski stills her fork before her lips, as does her husband. Stiles chews slowly, sensing the sudden confusion laced in her movement. He rests a hand on her thigh, as he’s sitting beside her on the dining table, with her at the head position.

He rubs her thigh, making her look at him. Lydia mind wanders off the conversation at hand, instead, admires her husband. It’s been twenty-two years since she confessed her love, and now they’re living under the same roof with an enthralling life ahead.

“It’s Scott,” she explains but her answer makes Stiles worry.

Although the two best friends are aware that the supernatural occurrences in Beacon Hills have been tamed, Scott and Stiles still jump at every implied suggestion of supernatural activity. Lydia understands them … they all grew up like that and this ‘jump’ has woven itself into their minds and bodies, becoming an instinct.

Lydia puts her fork down and rubs the hand on her thigh, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s about Henry,” she further explains, before giving her attention to Scott. She sets her phone onto the table before them, putting Scott on speaker phone.

“No, Scott, he hasn’t come in,” Lydia hesitantly replies.

“Malia’s going to kill me!” Scott groans and Stiles laughs at him. “Stiles! Malia made me swear that I wouldn’t let that kid out of my sight because she wants us to have the talk with him!”

“Woah, okay, Alpha, calm down,” Lydia chuckles, leaning forward, as she eats a forkful of pasta. After quickly chew it, she says, “Henry’s seventeen. And a werewolf. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Lydia,” Scott interrupts, in a disbelieving manner, “It’s not the kid I’m worried about. It’s me. Malia is going to kill me.”

“Malia is not going to kill you, shut up,” Lydia disregards, waving a hand, even though the alpha can’t see her.

Stiles watches on, amused. Lydia looks at him, her heart clenching at the sight of his beautiful face. She always wondered if the excessive love she has for this man will tire her out, but it didn’t. Instead, it’s the sole reason she wakes up every morning and goes on with life. Because of Stiles and another someone special.

Stiles leans over, pecking his wife’s lips, whilst getting up. He picks up the plates and heads into the kitchen to wash them up. “Scott, Malia has every right to be angry with you, especially after you managed to burn the soup she made – like how do you burn soup?”

“It’s a special talent I have, shut up, Stilinski!” Scott fights back, forgetting the situation momentarily. “But, seriously, Lydia. He’s not at your house?”

“Why would he be at mine?” Lydia questions, getting up and helping Stiles clean up.

“Oh, I don’t know, well, because we both know he’s in love with Eleanor!” Scott yells, exasperated.

Lydia stills at the kitchen doorway, her palms beginning to sweat. Stiles does to, whilst cleaning the dishes. He slowly looks over his shoulder at his wife, who just offers him a weak smile.

The next second, Stiles has dropped the plate that was in his hand and cleaned his hands with a new napkin and rushes over to the table.

“WHAT?” Stiles screeches, making Lydia tense up and squeeze her eyes shut. She sighs when Scott begins to stutter a reply. She walks over and rests a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and the other rests on his hand, which is on the the table. She rubs his shoulder before pressing a kiss against it, trying to calm him down.

“Why am I always the one left out?” Stile asks, not believing what he’s hearing.

“Stiles, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s actually a good thing that He–” Scott begins but is loudly cut off by his best friend, over the phone.

“Henry, your son, is in love with Eleanor, my daughter!” Stiles screams, which concerns Lydia.

“Stiles you’re overreacting, it’s nothing. They’re teen–”

“My baby girl —”

“– She’s seventeen!”

“Exactly! She’s still young!” Stiles reasons, his eyes wide and heart beating fast.

Lydia sighs, taking matters into her own hands. She grips his forearm and makes him slowly face her. “Stiles,” Lydia mumbles, nudging his nose with hers. She faintly registers the phone being cut.

Stiles breathes out, deeply, before tilting his head back. Lydia follows him, leaning up and pressing her nose against the skin of his neck.

Lydia shivers at the instinctive touch of his hands on her waist, as he pulls her closer. Twenty-two years on and her heart still stutters under his touch. Her mind fogs up, as she desperately searches for words to form a sentence.

“Scott’s right,” Lydia loosely chuckles, pulling back. She cups his cheek and makes him look at her. “Our baby Eleanor isn’t so such a baby anymore.” For good measure, Lydia kisses his cheek.

This makes Stiles tightly squirm under her touch. He sighs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, one holding his chin up. Lydia’s hands now settle onto his torso. She grips him, searching his eyes for an answer.

His eyes are something she’s grown accustomed to and something she can read like an open book. Lydia understands every emotion wavering through Stiles’ eyes without a moment of doubt.

It has created a certain comfort of knowing that someone will always be there to help you and someone will always understand.

Everyday, this simple fact swells his heart, as does it Lydia’s.

Stiles looks at her, appreciating her. His mind swirls with the growing emotion of love .. never once has he ever doubted Lydia or their love. It’s something he knows is going to last. So, he leans his forehead against hers, breathing out loudly. Lydia smiles, pressing her smile against his small pout.

She nudges his nose with hers once more, giggling behind her sealed lips when he stops a chuckle from erupting his mouth. Her hands rest on his thighs, as he leans back against the dining table.

But then something important dawns him, making him stiffen and stand upright.

“Scott. . what did he say?” Stiles asks, hands flailing about and foot tapping against the floor.

 

“He was asking about Henry –” Lydia mutters, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a kiss against his collarbone.

“And he asked if he was here!” Stiles yells, pulling away.

Although she finds the spark of fury in his hazel eyes hot, she begins to worry about his motives. “Stiles, leave i–”

“Henry Benjamin McCall, get out of my daughter’s room, right now!” Stiles scolds, going up the stairs in two.

Lydia sighs, rolling her eyes before following her husband to their daughter’s room.

Just as she reaches him, Stiles opens the door.

And very well, Henry McCall has his eyes wide, as he leans against Eleanor’s desk, whilst Eleanor is sat on the bed, head in her hands.

Eleanor Stilinski looks up, horrified that her father is here. Her dull strawberry blond hair has the sides of her hair crowned with a braid, as they get pinned at the back. All her other her hair is let loose. Her eyes sparkle a hazely colour, which reminds the couple of just what a beautiful thing they have created.

Henry’s adopted a more wavy look, his cheeks defined and jaw as well. He’s grown into a well frame from the tons of lacrosse he plays and the constant runs him and Eleanor have, almost every morning. 

“Uncle Mieczyslaw!” Henry greets loudly, trying to ease the sudden tension in the room.

Lydia groans, squeezing her eyes shut as she mutters to herself, “You did not just call him that.”

“It’s Stiles!” Stiles objects, stepping into the room and crossing his arms over his chest. Eleanor bolts upright, sensing the anger in her father’s tone.

“Dad,” she nervously greets. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Stiles asks, pushing his head forward and arching an eyebrow. “What happened is that Henry’s in love with you.”

And the rest’s eyes widen at the revelation.

Eleanor wanders her head before her eyes settle on Henry. Her mouth small slowly forms a grin, which she beats by biting her lower lip.

Stiles head darts back and forth between the pair, Eleanor looking at the boy at her desk and Henry furiously blushing, keeping his faze on the floor. “Eleanor, no!” Stiles sternly declines, seeing this exchange, his voice full of disbelief.

“Dad, it’s Harry –” Eleanor tries to weakly fight back, getting up.

“Eleanor, you’re only seventeen, I’m not having it,” Stiles says, shaking his head.

“That’s highly hypocritical of you, isn’t it?” Lydia comments, from behind him, making Stiles look over his shoulder. She gives her husband a knowing smile.

Stiles is at a loss for words. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Not wanting to argue with his wife right then, he snaps his head to look at his daughter again.

Henry has a small smile on his lips, as he admires the girl standing in front of him, trying to fight her dad.

“Henry is now ‘Harry’? May I remind you, last year you used to call him Henry Benjamin out of anger?” Stiles argues, his arms frantically moving about.

Eleanor looks at her father with soft eyes, tilting her head to the side. She crosses her arms over her chest.

Henry wants to laugh – even though Stiles Stilinski is about to kill him for loving his daughter. He watches the person he loves, clad in a flannel and ripped shorts try and argue her father.

“Uncles Stiles,” Henry finally says, trying to help Eleanor out.

Stiles shoots a glare at the kid he so hopelessly is over-protective, loving and caring of. All of his emotions pre-finding-out-Henry-loves-his-daughter is thrown out of the window. Fuck Henry for loving his daughter!

“It’s not like this is the first time I’ve been in her room and you’ve always loved me! This doesn’t change a thing!” Hnery badly reasons.

“You’re definitely Scott McCall’s son,” Lydia sighs, almost crying as she waits for Stiles to burst.

“Not the first time! I’ve never seen you come in!” Stiles yells.

“The window –”

“Damn you, Henry Benjamin and your werewolf power!” Stiles curses at the young boy.

“Uncle Stiles, I promise to take care of your daughter, I won’t hurt her –” Henry assures, taking a step forward and nervously holding Eleanor’s hand.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning! Just because Lydia and I came late from work doesn’t mean you could have him here, Eli!” Stiles scolds.

“You’re coming with me,” Lydia interrupts, dragging her husband out of the room. Lydia gives Henry an apologetic look before she closes the door.

In the hallways, she unleashes her anger. She pokes Stiles’ chest, scolding, “You and I used to sleep in the same bed when we were eighteen! Why can’t they? Don’t you trust our daughter?”

Stiles leans against the corridor wall, raking a hand through his hair.

“Oh, and if that doesn’t make you feel hypocritical, what about the time we had sex in your bed after the Wild Hunt?” Lydia asks, stepping close into his space.

Stiles looks at her. “That’s what I’m worried about! I don’t want her to loose her innocence.”

And Lydia finally gets it.

“You’re scared of her growing up so quickly,” she says. It isn’t a question, it’s a statement.

Stiles sighs, defeated. He cups her cheek, kissing her.

Lydia kisses him more passionately, assuring her that their daughter will be fine. Their hearts tighten with the love coursing through them. The electricity crackles between them and every touch sends a new wave of happiness through them.

Their burning love from all these years hasn’t fazed. It’s something that means so much to them. It something that show true love.

Lydia pulls back, ignoring the way music begins to blast from Eleanor’s room. . the classic Lumineers, ‘Ophelia’.

Stiles does, so he groans, pulling away and moving towards the door. But Lydia presses him harder against the wall, kissing him, once more.

“Ignore it,” Lydia mumbles, bringing her husband into the neverland they have created for themselves.

Stiles wonders about how he got her. . somewhere after their first kiss, he just had her. But then he started dating Malia and they sort of drifted out of each other’s reach . . but he always loved her. And then he was taken away, but she remembered.

And even when everyone convinced her she might be going crazy, she fought . . she fought for him. She never stopped. Even when she herself felt like this was going nowhere, she held onto that small fraction of hope and held it close to her. She knew Stiles was out there. Their emotional tether couldn’t be altered even though they were in different dimensions.

That was the highlight of their emotional connection.

If dimensions couldn’t keep them apart, they are tied for this lifetime and beyond.

It scares them that they’re forty, but they forget it and remember the adventures they’ve been on and the ones that will come. Whether they liked it or not, they secretly want they Martin-Stilinski detective agency on.

But with the two teenagers in their daughter’s room, they’re more than happy to pass on the responsibility.

A fire burns in them but is halted when a crash is heard.

Lydia and Stiles pull apart, snapping their heads to find the culprit.

Henry McCall is toppled over, outside the room. He gets up in helter-skelter, apologising for his mistake. It doesn’t last long because he’s dragged back into the room.

“That kid,” Stiles mumbles, going to him, but Lydia stops him, again. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s ours or Scott’s.”

She chuckles, shaking her head, “He is very much like you: frantic, clumsy –” she laughs at Stiles’ bemused expression, continuing, “How about we watch a movie and wait until things settle?. . Then we can talk to them.”

Stiles smiles. Then, “Star Wars is what we’re watching if I’m first!” And with that, Stiles runs down the stars.

But just like all those years ago, Lydia’s legs are short and she has to move twice as much to get to the living room. Her green, midi skirt bounces her knees as she goes down the stairs.

Stiles gives her a short, victory laugh, plopping down onto the couch, in his comfortable Adidas tracks and sweater.

Lydia laughs, going to the laundry room to change into her pajamas, which included black leggings and Stiles’ lacrosse hoodie, with the number 24. Sometimes, when over at the McCall’s, the hoodies got mixed up because Henry, too, had the number 24. Something that made Stiles proud. . as if he had a hand in raising him. Which, of course, he did. Henry is his best friend’s son, after all.

The married couple get all cuddled up, under a thick, fuzzy blanket. Their hands find each other’s, holding on tight, because when together, a moment apart feels empty.

“I love you,” Lydia whispers, half way through the movie, laying her head on his chest. Her voice is extremely sleepy. . it is three-thirty in the morning. They need to wake up early.

Stiles’ heart still races when she says those three words. The strong love twirls in his stomach, clouding his judgements. He holds her closer to him, pressing a kiss to her temple, just as he hears her steady breathing.

A long way. A long way they have come.

Twenty minutes later, when Stiles feels exhausted, he switches of the television and cleans up. He looks at his wife, her strawberry blond hair framing her face. Stiles picks her up, holding her close to his body. “Shh,” he mumbles, kissing her forehead.

With her in his arms, bridal style, he walks upstairs.

He pauses in front of Eleanor’s door, curious. Did Henry leave?

Stiles quietly opens the door. A smile makes its way to his lips when he finds the teenagers sleeping together on the bed.

Their on their sides, facing each other. Henry’s tucked his head under her chin, arms wrapped around her waist. Eleanor’s hand is absentmindedly stroking the nape of his hair, her soft breathing fanning his hair. Their legs are intertwined, Eleanor’s body further up to the headboard, whilst Henry finds her chest comfortable.

Stiles smiles, knowing that this is what him and Lydia have made. The night when Scott was bitten seems like yesterday. . but it’s been around twenty-six.

As he’s about to close the door, Stiles hears the angelic voice of his daughter, croakily call, “Dad?”

Stiles looks over his shoulder, softly replying, “Go to sleep, Sunshine. Both of you need it.”

Eleanor says something but it’s muffled, as she pulls Henry closer to her.

Once he settles onto the bed, with his stunning wife asleep next to him, Stiles knows that Henry is the best man out there for his daughter. . his best friends raised him . .who can be better than them?

Pulling the love of his life close to him, Stiles mumbles, “I love you, Lyds.”

And all of tonight, Eleanor and Henry put him back to when him and Lydia were eighteen.


End file.
